Stuck in the Middle
by Lilbit903
Summary: Non-canon. Clarke decided to stay in Polis, after convincing Roan to teach her the Grounder ways more thoroughly. Bellamy, untrusting of the Azgeda King's motives decided to stay as well. Now Clarke is stuck between two men, who want her for two very different reasons. Will she be able to see the truth, or will the pretty lies ensnare her?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All recognizable characters belong to the CW and Jason Rothenberg.**

 **Warnings/Triggers: Violence, smut, language, possessive behavior, manipulative behavior, gray moral codes, dub-con, drug use.**

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 **" _Some people out there will do all kinds of unscrupulous tactics to get what they want,  
even if it's wrong, as long as it fits their agenda."_**

A solid 'thwack' filled the room when Clarke landed in a heap across the room. She pushed herself up with a groan, sending a glower Roan's way. Damn, but that hurt. Getting up, she swayed on her feet. Sweat dripped off her forehead, stinging her eyes as it poured off her. Rivets formed, cutting through the dirt and grime that coated her body. Her muscles ached and burned, from the strain of the practice. She wanted to call it quits for the day but refused to give Roan the satisfaction. Blinking the sweat from her eyes she tried to focus on him. On the lesson, he'd been trying to teach her. Aim for the weak points. Knees, face, throat, groin. Use her elbows and legs to strike. Move fast, learn to tuck and roll.

She was still working on the last part, hence being thrown across the room. Her brain felt fuzzy from the exhaustion and strain of being hit over and over again. Blood had dried in various places on her, and she could feel the sting of each scrape and cut that covered her aching body. Glaring at Roan she stumbled towards him, prepared to attack again, even if it meant she would find herself in a heap on the floor yet again.

"Enough!" Bellamy's sharp voice cut through the haze in her mind. Roan stood up straight, holding his hand out to halt Clarke's approach. The two men stared at one another, sizing each other up. Bellamy's jaw ticked with annoyance. He had seen enough, Clarke had been going at this for hours, and had yet to land a true blow against the Azgeda King. While she was sweating, bleeding and panting from exertion Roan was barely out of breath. Clarke was too stubborn to give in, and the King would continue to beat her down until she couldn't get back up.

"We stop when she says. Not you." Roan told him, arching his brow at Bellamy. He stepped closer to Clarke, lifting her chin higher so he could meet her eyes. Her eyes shone with defiance and exhaustion, but still, she held his gaze. Bellamy let out a low snarl and stormed across the room, jerking Clarke behind him.

"I said enough. She can barely stand, much less fight. And she's too damned stubborn to admit it." Bellamy growled at him, keeping Clarke behind him protectively. He pushed down the rush of warmth he felt when she pressed her forehead against his back. Now was not the time to let his emotions gain control. He needed to be clear headed for Clarke, God knows she wasn't thinking clearly.

"Bellamy, no. I can take it. I can take it, I promise." Clarke whispered, trying to move her way between the two men, getting annoyed when Bellamy pushed her back. Sighing in frustration, she pulled away from him, before ducking quickly under his arm. Staring up at Roan she tensed her jaw and nodded.

"I'm ready. Again." She demanded, shifting her body into the proper stance he'd drilled into her head. Feet shoulder width apart, body low, right foot slightly in front of the other. She prepared herself to be thrown across the room yet again and was surprised when Roan simply smiled down at her.

"No. Little Wanheda, as much as it pains me to admit, he's right. You've done well today. We'll recommence tomorrow." Roan told her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stared at her. She was strong this one. He lamented the fact that she had not been born a grounder, more specifically, not born an Azgeda grounder. He would gladly take a woman such as this as his Queen. She was resilient and resourceful. She loved her people fiercely, so much so that she would fight, kill and die for them. It was rare amongst the Sky People. A race that had become ensconced with their own needs and desires, so much that they thought of no one else. But not this one. Not Clarke Griffin, the Wanheda. She wanted them to all be her people.

The only problem he saw within her, was her weakness for the man behind her. Bellamy. She might not openly admit it, but he could tell that she loved him more than any other of her people. More so than even her mother. He didn't doubt that had Alie gotten her hands on him, Clarke would have caved in an instant. He was her weakness. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to see it. She was strong, and yet one man could make her crumble. As he stared into her blue eyes, he found himself wishing that he was her weakness. That he was the one she would go to war for, and lay waste to the Earth for. He knew that if he was, he wouldn't be a stupid as Bellamy.

He would tell her he loved her, cement the bond between them and lay claim to her as his for all the world to see. He was half tempted to already. However, he knew he would have to be patient, and hope that Bellamy screwed up enough to make her question him. Something that didn't seem likely. Perhaps he'd have to make Bellamy mess up. After all, a prize like Clarke was worth fighting for. And he was determined to have her by any means necessary.

He watched as Bellamy led her away, back to her rooms, with a sense of determination. A plan was beginning to formulate in his head, and if he were successful, he wwould have Clarke Griffin as his bride. His Queen. Smirking to himself he too left the room, heading for his own chambers.

Bellamy stared down at Clarke as he ushered her to her room. She was starting to shake from sheer exhaustion, and he doubted she would bathe tonight. He considered offering to help her do so but wasn't up for the sting of rejection from her. Tonight or any other. God, how one girl, one woman could capture his heart so thoroughly baffled him. From the moment the dropship had landed, she had been proving her strength and resilience. Taking care of everyone. Always trying to do what was best for their people, even if it wasn't what was best for her. It had killed him watching her with Finn, and later with Lexa. How she could fall for them, and yet not see just how much he really loved her hurt like hell. She was everything he never thought he would want. The princess of the Ark. She was the golden girl. Untouchable, made of spun glass and meant to be looked at, but never touched. Until he got to know her, at least. Then he and everyone else realized she was made of iron and steel and grit that they could never hope to possess. There was a fire burning within her that made everything else around her seem dim in comparison. She was still golden, but she was also tarnished with the blood and death and fear that being on the ground caused.

"I'm fine Bell. I've had worse." She told him, leaning against his side and confirming that she really wasn't fine. Stupid, stubborn girl.

"No, you're not. You should know that out of everyone I'm the last person you could lie to." He told her, supporting her weight even more, as she seemed to drag her feet against the uneven floor. Damn Roan. And damn Clarke. She just didn't know when to quit. He had no doubt that she would have let Roan kill her just to prove a point. She didn't want to be seen as weak but didn't she know that he could never think that of her. Even when she left after Mount Weather, he didn't think her weak. Clarke's sardonic chuckle broke him out of his thoughts, and he focused his attention more fully on her.

"Same old Bellamy. Still calling me on my bullshit." She murmured lifting her face to try and meet his eyes. As he stared into the blue depths that made up the ocean of her soul, he felt himself crumble just a little. She looked so broken, and in that moment he saw why she had allowed Roan to beat her down over and over again. She felt she deserved it. She truly thought herself a monster and believed that allowing the King of Azgeda to abuse her in such a way would make up for all of her sins. He wanted to cry and scream at her that she wasn't a monster. At least no more than he was, but knew that she wouldn't believe him. At least not yet.

So he'd continue to watch her punish herself through Roan, and he'd be there to pick up the pieces when she finally broke. And he'd put them all back together again, even if he had to use some of his own to make her whole again. Because if anyone on this Godforsaken planet deserved to be whole, it was Clarke Griffin. He sighed and decided to take a chance, stopping to lift her in his arms he carried her the rest of the way to her rooms. Ignoring her feeble protests, he held her close and let her solid weight soothe him as he walked. Reaching her rooms, he shouldered open the door and strode across the space to place her on her bed. Smiling down at her sleeping form, he brushed her hair back from her face and leaned down to place a tender kiss on her forehead.

"You'll be okay Clarke. I'll make sure of it." He whispered before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him quietly.

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 **A/N: My plunny factory is alive and well, and breeding like well, ya know. For those of you wondering, QoF ch. 15 has been sent to my amazing Beta Vino Amore, who is also beta-ing this story. This story may be darker than I intend, but I'm not sure yet. And currently not sure on who will be with Clarke in the end. Let me know your thoughts. Reviews are always welcome. Til next time, Lilbit903.**


	2. Staking Claim

_**"In a King's eye, all things belong to him."**_

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Clarke awoke with a start to a dark and empty bedchamber. Lying amongst the soft furs, with only the light of the moon to illuminate the room, she felt her heart start to calm. Glancing around cautiously at the shadows she allowed herself to fully relax. She was alone. Without the weight of Wanheda on her shoulders, without the confusing looks from Bellamy, and without the expectations of the Grounders. However, she still had her thoughts. The dark depressing ones that crept in while she slept, making themselves into nightmares. The screams of the children and men and women she had killed chasing her through the halls of Mount Weather. Their burned corpses rising up to point their fingers at her, shouting that she had killed them. Clasping her hand over her mouth she held back a sob to the best of her ability.

She didn't have a choice! She had to save her people. They were her responsibility and it was her fault they had been there in the first place. More shouts filled her mind, those of the grounders whose loved ones were but an empty shell of themselves after taking the key from ALIE. Calling her Wanheda, Commander of Death. Struggling to breathe, but to also keep quiet she felt her body start to tremble. She knew they hated her, hell even some of her own people hated her. That's why she had practically begged Roan to teach her to fight. Properly. Not just with the hope that if she was close enough to a blade she could cut a femoral or carotid artery.

He had seemed reluctant at first but finally given in with the agreement that she would stay by his side in Polis until he decided he had to leave back to his people. She had agreed readily, not wanting to go back to Arcadia just yet, knowing that with their luck something else would come along and once again she would be left to make the hard decisions. She was tired of it all. Tired of shouldering the blame. Bellamy tried to convince her that he was equally at fault, but she didn't see it that way. Neither did anyone else. They all blamed her.

And she would accept it as penance for the lives she took. She would bear the trepidation filled looks so that no one else would have to. She alone would take the responsibility, even if it killed her. Rocking back and forth on the bed with sobs wracking her body, she didn't notice the figure slip into her room. Although she had covered her mouth to muffle her cries, the walls of the tower were thin and carried sounds through echoes.

Roan stood in the middle of the room eyeing the strong woman in front of him. She looked so helpless wrapped up in furs, trembling like a small child, and it unsettled him greatly. This, this was what separated Clarke Griffin from the rest of her people. She felt regret and guilt much more deeply than they ever would. Because she truly wanted to save everyone, not just Skaikru. But all of the Clans. Making his way to her bed in a few quick strides, he touched her shoulder tenderly, not wanting to startle her. Keeping his guard up in case she was like so many others and had a knife nearby he called out to her.

With a jump she turned to face him, bright blue eyes shining from tears. Her cheeks wet and glistening in the moonlight; how she could make such a sad sight so beautiful baffled him. But there had once been a saying, long before the Praimfaya came and forced people into what they were now. There is beauty in pain. And Clarke was beautiful in her suffering, but he knew she was more so in her joy.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rubbed her arm tentatively. "It is okay to have regrets, but you should not let them consume you. A warrior kills because he is told to. A leader kills because they have to. And a murderer kills because he wants to. You are a leader, Clarke. Every kill you've made was because you had no other choice." He told her, meeting her eyes steadily.

She stared at him, with tears leaking down her face. "How do I make the voices stop? How do I stop seeing their faces, knowing that I made the call to end their lives? How do I live with myself knowing that everywhere I go Death follows?" She asked bitterly.

Roan let out a heavy sigh and gently grasped her jaw. "You claim your title. You use it to chase the demons away and you fight. Because that is how you survive. By fighting. Being Wanheda doesn't have to be a bad thing. Keep in mind, that the Commander of Death can also stop it if she so chooses."

Running his fingers through her blond hair he marveled at the soft tresses. Clarke stayed quiet mulling over his words, not seeming to mind his touch. This brought him a sense of victory. He had seen her shy away from others, or at the very least seem uncomfortable, but she was completely relaxed around him. He knew that she knew that he could kill her if he wanted, and yet she was comfortable in his presence. That thought made him smile.

Perhaps, he could have her as his Queen after all. Glancing at her, he could picture her on a throne beside him. Or riding into battle with him. She was the kind of woman to do anything for those she loved, and he was determined to sway her towards him. To make her forget about her so-called protector Bellamy. As if she needed protecting? No. When he was through training and grooming her, the masses would bow at her feet and no one would dare try to harm her. And if they did, they would meet Death at her hands. She would be the next Azgeda Queen, he was sure of it. And when they were married, she would bear him strong sons and daughters who would go forth to bring the Coalition together as one Clan with them as its leaders.

"Thank you, Roan. I'm sorry if I woke you. I should be alright for the rest of the night." She told him, leaning into his hand slightly, before pulling away.

Roan gave her a small smile, one that he had noticed seemed to make her lose focus and pulled his hand away. "Remember, we start practice at dawn. Goodnight, Clarke." With that, he left her room.

Quiet footsteps followed him back to his rooms, and he hid a smirk having an inkling as to who it was. Rounding the corner to his rooms, he stopped and turned sharply grabbing his follower and slamming them against the wall. Even in the dark corridor, he could make out the features of Bellamy Blake.

"Care to tell me why you're following me?" Roan leered in his face. The boy was too cocky for his own good and liable to get himself killed. Worse he was likely to get Clarke killed. Something Roan wasn't about to stand for.

"Yeah, just as soon as you tell me what you were doing in Clarke's room," Bellamy growled back, pushing Roan away from him. Glaring at the Azgeda king, he dusted off his shirt.

"Well, I do believe that's between me and her. What's the matter? Afraid of a little competition." Roan goaded, smirking at the slightly younger man. He knew that was the root of the problem. Bellamy was jealous, he had no doubt been going to comfort Clarke, but Roan had beat him to it. Something he planned to continue doing at every opportunity.

"You're no competition. Because Clarke isn't some prize to fight over. She's human, with emotions and feelings. And you will never be able to understand what she goes through. What she went through because you weren't there. I was. And I'll always be there. So whatever your motives, you can give it up." Bellamy snarled, stepping closer to Roan, refusing to back down.

Roan glared down at the boy in front of him. Because despite everything he'd seen and done, he was still just a boy. "We'll see about that."

Bellamy frowned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in annoyance. Slamming Roan against the wall he hissed in his face, "I don't trust you. I especially don't trust you around Clarke. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but leave her out of it."

Roan held up his hands in surrender, a smirk playing on his lips. When Bellamy released him and turned to leave the hall, he was stopped by Roan calling out to him.

"Remember that, when she's by my side in the future, Bellamy. Because even though you don't trust me, she does. And that's all that matters."

Bellamy clenched his jaw and walked away, refusing to let Roan bait him anymore tonight. He'd said his piece, and aside from hoping that Clarke would see through the Azgeda King's lies and plots, there was nothing more he could do at this moment.

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 **A/N:** **Roan has made his mind up about Clarke, who is still fighting her demons, and Bellamy rightfully doesn't trust the king. Plus some macho tension... Beta'd by the amazing Vino Amore, thanks so much for your thoughts and input doll! Reviews are always welcome. Til next time, Lilbit903.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**"And touching you was like playing with fire,  
**_ _ **I knew I'd get burned if I continued  
But the risk was part of the fun."**_

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Clarke stumbled her way to the training room just before dawn. Her entire body ached all over, and she was so tired from tossing and turning last night. Unable to truly rest with Roan's words repeating in her head. She wondered if he spoke from experience. And which one was he? A murderer, a warrior, or a leader? Sure, he leads his people, but did he relish in the deaths of those he killed? Did he like seeing the life fade from their eyes, or was he like her? Full of regret for the lives he had taken. Maybe he was, or perhaps he wasn't, but it didn't matter. The people they had killed were still dead, and nothing would ever bring them back. It would forever be a stain upon their souls, one that would never wash off.

"Have you even ate yet?" Bellamy asked when she finally made her way into the mirrored room. If she had to guess it had once been used for a dance studio of some kind. Now it was simply worn down with cracked mirrors and dusty floors. "No. I'd rather not throw it all back up after Roan kicks my as again today." Clarke sighs. Sending Bellamy a glance she begins to stretch, hoping to ease some of the aches in her muscles.

"Clarke, you can't fight on an empty stomach. You need food to fuel your body. I bet you didn't eat last night either." Bellamy frowns, staring at the way Clark moves her body from one position to another. It's erotic in a way that it really shouldn't be, not with the multitude of bruises that cover her skin. They've already started turning purple and black, and it sends a jolt of anger through him. Anger at Roan for doing this to her, and anger at Clarke for needing him to do so.

"Stop worrying Bellamy. I'll be fine. I've survived worse. I'll survive this. And I'll be stronger for it." Clarke huffs, glaring at him from the floor. It's ineffective, especially when she's nearly bent over backward staring up at him. Bellamy runs a hand down his face. So _fucking_ stubborn. He shakes his head but lets the issue drop for now. Arguing with her will just piss him off more, and he's through being angry at her. But she makes it so damned difficult when she keeps running herself into the ground. Like she _wants_ to die.

"Fine. But you're eating once you're done with this for today." He tells her, leaving no room for argument. She smiles up at him and resumes stretching. It's painful, but a good kind of pain. The kind that tells her she's alive. That she can feel something after all.

"Whatever you say, Bell," she mumbles before laying back on the floor to raise her legs into the air. Roan walks in at that moment and has to stop at the sight of her on the floor with her golden hair splayed around her. It contrasts highly with the dirty floor, and he wants to snarl at her. To pull her from the floor and tell her that a Queen should never lower herself to that level. But he can't she's not his Queen yet. No, right now she's still Skaikru's Princess. Bellamy's Princess. That thought makes his jaw clench in anger. Not for long he thinks, staring at Clarke while she manipulates her body again, rolling over to push up on her toes and hands. The sight is enough for Roan to finally make himself known, anything to prevent Bellamy from staring at her ass any longer.

"You're here. Good. If you're done, we can get started." He barks out, smirking when she loses her concentration and falls. He ignores the glare Bellamy sends his way and steps over to help Clarke stand. Frowning he notices that she's swaying on her feet lightly. Her eyes have bags under them, partly due to her nightmares he's sure. But she's also pale, and the longer he stares at her, the clearer it becomes. She's weakened. Tired and worn down, but she's still here. He feels his respect for her grow.

"Have you eaten Wanheda?" He questions, looking intently into her eyes. At her frown and a small shake of her head, he rolls his eyes. Grabbing her hand he tells her, "Come on then." Snarling at Bellamy when he moves to pull her away from him. Like he would ever truly hurt her. Even with the bruises littering her body, he had not broken a single bone or done any life threatening damage. Though he had plenty opportunity to do so.

"Wait, where are we going?" Clarke asks, looking surprised. Her eyebrows have drawn up, and her lips are puckered slightly. Roan feels his lips twitch, honestly, she's adorable. The way she thinks she's larger than life. She is, but she's also tiny and susceptible to death, just like anyone else. Regardless of being called Wanheda, he knows no one can truly command death. Not even her. But he also knows that she will try.

"To get you some food. You can barely stand, and I will not train you if you're not caring for yourself." Roan supplies, crossing his arms over his chest to stare down at her. Clarke glares up at him, crossing her arms as well. "I can wait."

He rolls his eyes. God, must she be so stubborn. "No, you can't. Either you eat, or you find another to teach you." He watches the indecision play across her face and knows he's won by the drooping of her shoulders. "Fine." She huffs, brushing past him. Staring at Bellamy he smirks.

"Seems you're not taking such good care of your _princess_ after all." He goads before leaving the room as well. He follows Clarke, catching up to her quickly, leaving Bellamy behind to curse in the room.

He smirks when he sees she's approaching the stairs instead of the old elevator. As if he's actually going to allow her to walk down twenty flights of stairs in her condition. He saunters up to her and grasps her shoulder, leading her to the elevator. She frowns at him and goes to pull away and he lets her, though it pains him to do so. He wants to keep her close to him, by his side where she should be. She might not know it yet, but she was already his. And he could be patient to get her to agree. But even his patience had a limit.

"We'll take the elevator." He smiles down at her, trying not to make it sound like the command it is. But she can tell, and usually, her hackles would have raised but she's just too damn sore to care right now. Instead, she's grateful for the reprieve on her sore muscles knowing that had she actually tried to walk down the stairs she would have most likely collapsed. So she nods and follows him to the elevator where he motions for the guards to let them on. And after the doors close she suddenly realizes just how small the elevator actually is. Roan sends her a smirk, and she feels the temperature in the cramped space go up a few notches and she turns her head forward. She can feel his eyes on her though, and the tension between them building. She's tempted to ask him if she has something on her face, but she knows that look in his eyes. It's the same look that Lexa and Finn would give her right before they took her to bed. It was the same look she occasionally caught Bellamy sending her. It was full of promises and unspoken desires, and she wondered which man would make her scream louder. Roan. Definitely Roan. Bellamy would want to take things slow at first, he'd want to chase away her demons with his touch. Roan would simply want to fuck them out of her.

Staring straight ahead she felt her face heat up at the thoughts running rampant in her mind. She shouldn't think of either of them that way, regardless of how much she wanted to climb into either of their beds. The attraction was there, sure, but one was her mentor, and the other was her co-leader and best friend. There were lines and boundaries there. Ones she wasn't willing to cross no matter how tempting it might be to do so. Blissful relief filled her when the elevator doors opened and she could escape the charged space. The guards stared at her when she rushed from the elevator, but she didn't care. She needed space from Roan and the thoughts that accompanied him. She would not, could not, go there. Not when she was still broken and learning to heal. And not when she was still trying to figure out if Bellamy was more to her than a best friend.

Roan followed Clarke out at a leisurely pace smirking at her show of uncomfortableness. He affected her, that much was obvious. Now, he just needed her to act on those feelings. Something he was going to enjoy doing very much. He watched her walk ahead of him by a few steps and how the people seemed to just flow out of her way. She barely noticed and he wondered if it was because she was used to it, or if it was a product of her shutting everything around her out. He knew that she still worried about people hating her, blaming her, but he needed her to see past that. Sighing he finally met her pace enough to walk beside her and he knew that they made quite the imposing pair. She was soft and delicate compared to him, and they contrasted together nicely. He could be the iron fist to rule the entire coalition, while she would be the velvet glove. She had compassion for people that he lacked, for he was too hardened from his time growing up in Azgeda, and later Polis. She would temper his anger, and he knew the sex would be amazing. Even more so now that he had seen just how flexible she truly was.

She had stopped in front of a small food vendor, and before she could pay for the bowl of oats and fruit she had ordered, he had reached out and placed a bit of tender in the merchant's hand. Ignoring the way she glared at him, he placed a hand on the small of her back and led her through the city. It had been years since he had been free to roam where he grew up, and he enjoyed seeing the people's faces at watching the Azgeda king with the great Wanheda. Awe, shock, fear, suspicion. It was obvious that people were concerned and confused. Clarke held herself tensely, but slowly relaxed when he didn't move his hand any lower. He smirked, knowing that it was enough for now.

"I could've paid for myself," Clarke tells him, sending him a look before nearly stumbling over the uneven ground. He catches her effortlessly, turning her to face him.

"That may be so, but it is my pleasure to take care of you, Clarke." He murmurs, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath hitches and he stares down at her, watching the way her lips part. Her tongue peeks out to wet the bottom one, and he can't help himself. The hand at her ear threads through her hair and he pulls her close. Claiming her lips in a heated kiss. Dominating it, he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, pleased when she caresses his in return. She melts into it, dropping the bowl of food on the ground with a clatter as one of her hands makes its way to his neck while the other rests on his chest. It's blissful. It's heavenly. It's wrong. And with that thought, she pulls herself away. Staring at him in shock, she stammers out an excuse and turns from him. Fleeing with the taste of him on her lips and a pounding in her heart. No, she thinks, no! She can't allow this to happen and so she runs, runs until her side aches and her breathing is even more ragged. She runs until she collapses, with great heaving sobs.

She knows that logically she hasn't done anything wrong. Roan is handsome, and they're obviously attracted to one another, but she can't help but feel as if she's betrayed, Bellamy. Which is insane. She doesn't owe him anything, not really. And that thought sends a pang through her heart because although she might not owe him anything, she wants to. But is it worth the risk of losing him? The risk of their relationship failing and him hating her? Or worse, dying? The way Lexa died? The way Finn died? Hell, even the way Wells died? Everything she touches turns to ash, and she can't watch that happen to him. Never him. So she sits, and she cries until her body has no more tears to shed, and she wonders when did life become so complicated. And the answer is simple. It always was, she just never saw it.

Roan watched Clarke run with a smile on his face. Let her run, he thinks, but she'll be back. He licks his lips and relishes in the way she tasted. Like fire, searing through his veins and he knows he wants more. That he will have more. Glancing around he grins at the people staring at him. Good, let them stare. Let them talk. He wants the rumors to spread. For people to know that he kissed her in broad daylight and that she was so overcome she had to flee. Let that get back to Bellamy. Maybe then the fool would realize he didn't have a chance. Not really. Because no matter what happened, in the end, he would have Clarke as his Queen. Even if he has to kill every potential threat to his goal. Because now that he's had a taste, it will never be enough to sate the hunger he has for her.

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 **A/N: Chapter 3 of SitM is through, and now we wait to see what Bellamy's going to do. Poor Clarke is beyond confused, and Roan is plotting. Thanks as always to my amazing Beta Vino Amore, you're one in a trillion doll. As always reviews are welcome. Til next time, Lilbit903.**


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